Chapter 4: Reed
When I saw Amazon lurch into the launch bay – the small craft's name rather a pompous one for something that looked like a flying garden shed held together by little more than duct tape and a prayer – I had my first serious doubts about the likelihood of success of our mission.
My confidence didn't increase when the pilot disembarked. A rather tall, gangly woman, she wore an outfit that seemed as cobbled together as her vessel, comprised of bits and pieces of Klingon and Andorian uniforms, two different boots, and a wild-west-style leather gun belt with a clumsy looking weapon stuck in it of a kind I had never seen before. She had a plain, longish face and a tussock of brown hair that suggested she had lost a cat fight with an angry lawn mower.
Poor Captain Archer just about swallowed his tongue every time he pronounced her assumed name. After all, Amelia Earhart is the patron saint of all flyboys, and I bet it didn't sit well with him to see some loutish, unmannered woman appropriate her sacred name. Can't say I had much of a problem with it, having used rather a long list of pseudonyms myself during my Section days. Maybe I never exactly called myself 'Charles bloody Lindbergh', but the idea of shedding one's identity was certainly not new to me.
Her vessel might have been adequate enough, if you ignored that bilious orange shag carpet and the rather alarming lack of defensive capability. Here we were, about to travel through one of the most pirate-riddled sectors with a cargo so valuable that everyone in the galaxy would be gunning for us if they knew we were carrying it, and the only weapon she had on board was a laser gun – a laser! – which would have been the star of the world armory expo a hundred and twenty years ago. Well, in a battle it would do a fine job at pointing at the enemy vessel, just long enough for us to get a lovely illuminated view of their incoming photon torpedo. That, and whatever that ridiculous water pistol was that she had strapped to her thigh.
Of course, our main strategy on this mission was to operate in secrecy, but I know a bit about secrecy; especially that when it fails, you usually find yourself in dire need of some backup fire power. At least I'd brought a couple of phase pistols, a phase rifle, some plasma charges and half a dozen stun grenades. Maybe, if we got engaged in battle, I could stand on the hull and hurl those at the enemy. For added effect, I could even roar and thump my chest! But oh, wait – sound doesn't carry in space, does it – so there went that strategy. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.
While we were waiting for Phlox, I got out my PADD and started a list of my concerns to be forwarded to the captain. But then the good doctor appeared, and my list suddenly got a lot longer.
We heard him clanking down the stairs to the shuttle deck, and seconds later he showed up in the hatch, laden with two large duffle bags, a couple of terrariums, a small water-filled tank and one of his freak-show smiles spread across his entire face.
"Ah, there you are, Lieutenant. Do you mind giving me a hand with these?"
"What on earth is all this?" I protested as he handed me the tank. Inside, a fat blue salamander stared vacantly at me from under a pink plastic plant.
"Only my osmotic eel, a Nublian newt and a few Regulan bloodworms. You must allow me at least a basic first aid kit, Lieutenant, hmm?"
The penny dropped. "You're coming along?"
I glanced at Earhart, who looked like she was about to bolt. At a guess, she wasn't accustomed to sharing quarters at all, and now, in addition to one irritable Englishman, she had to put up with a jolly Denobulan and his private zoo of atrocities.
"Not to worry," Phlox beamed as he looked around the tiny cabin. I had hardly ever seen him so happy. "I shall require very little space during the journey. You will barely notice I am here."
So now, on top of our lack of defences on this harebrained mission, I was going to have to worry about the safety of our ship's CMO, arguably one of the most valuable members of the Enterprise crew. My day was not getting any better.
"Doctor," I implored when I found my voice. "This is a potentially dangerous mission; I see no need for you to…"
"Lieutenant," he cut me off, "this is a medical mission. I have expertise with osmium that is needed on Tellar. The distilling process is very delicate; I can't simply, what is that expression, 'phone it in' over subspace. I was able to convince Captain Archer that my presence is required. If you have complaints, please take them to the Captain."
So I marched straight up to the Captain's ready room, where I stood at attention with my eyes on the bulkhead behind him and itemised my objections. He listened and nodded patiently, and when I was done he got up and clapped me on the shoulder.
"Malcolm," he intoned in his paternal voice. (If I had a week's salary for every time Captain Archer clapped me on the shoulder, I could retire to my own private beach front cottage on Risa at the end of this mission.)
"Malcolm. Phlox's experience with the osmium cure will be very appreciated on Tellar. Besides," he smiled down at me conspiratorially, "he's expressed an interest in going on more away missions. He doesn't get off the ship that often. Let him have some of the fun!"
Well, wasn't this splendid. First Doctor Doolittle, and now Captain Congeniality thought we were going on some kind of adventure cruise. I pointed out that surely the absence of a second senior officer would raise suspicions during the Andorian celebrations, but the Captain assured me that Phlox had officially requested a leave of absence to 'visit his extended family on Denobula', since there would be enough medical doctors present on Andoria and the Vulcan ships to cover any emergencies in his absence. And Lieutenant Reed, the poor pathetic wanker, who was languishing in his quarters with the Tellarite pox, would be attended by Crewman Cutler, who was immune to that disease as she had suffered through it as a child. Bugger. They had it all worked out admirably, and I had no more arguments to set against them.
"I am putting you in command of this mission, Lieutenant", Archer told me. "I have made it clear to Phlox that he is to obey your orders in all matters that involve tactical decisions." Well, that sounded reassuringly vague. And here came another shoulder clap. "Keep him safe, Malcolm."
It took all my considerable self-control not to roll my eyes at my Captain. Instead, I gave him a curt nod and rejoined the others on Amazon.
Phlox was sitting on one of the benches, storing away his things. He greeted me with a smile, a bit less exuberant than the one he had worn earlier and tinged with sympathetic understanding. "Ah, Mr. Reed, I assume your objections have gone unheeded?"
"It's nothing personal, Phlox", I sighed.
"I understand, Lieutenant. You are worried about my safety." He stood and for a moment, I was wondering if he was going to clap me on the shoulder as well. But of course, Denobulans don't like casual touch. "Your concern honours me. But I assure you, I have not always led the sheltered life of a ship's medical officer. I am quite accustomed to, how do humans say, 'huffing it'?"
I had to think about that one for a moment. "I do believe you mean 'roughing it', doctor."
"Ah, of course," he beamed happily, "but I was close, hmmm?"
Before we launched, Phlox showed us the osmium, safely secured and sealed in one of his tea thermoses, which he had modified to hold the highly toxic substance. He handed it to us, advising us cheerfully, "Don't drop it on your foot now, hmm?" Which I almost did, as the container was astonishingly weighty for such a small volume. After all, osmium is the densest of all elements, twice as heavy as lead. That much I remembered from my 'Chemistry for Armory Personnel' course at Starfleet academy.
So that was it – one small cylinder. There was enough pure-grade osmium powder in there to make the whole planet of Nausicaa rock in tune to the galactic background noise. "Keep it safe," I told Phlox, and he nodded solemnly as he secured it in his duffle bag under the bench.
Half an hour later, while Earhart piloted her vessel out of orbit, Phlox and I watched both Enterprise and Andoria grow smaller in Amazon's tiny rear window.
